Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9Z6BHT0G900GC91DAVKWG

The third deadbolt clicked, then the final one. Aurora hadn’t expected him to actually *be* here. Not after six months. Not after the way things had ended. She pulled the door inward, bracing for… she didn’t even know what. Lucien stood in the hallway, filling it. Not with size, though he was tall enough, but with an aura of expensive tailoring and contained power. Charcoal suit, of course. Platinum hair slicked back, revealing a sharp jawline. And those eyes. Still mismatched. Amber and black, assessing her with a coolness that felt practiced. He held his cane, the ivory handle gleaming in the dim light of the building. “Rory,” he said, the single syllable a low drawl that still had the effect of tightening something in her chest. “You look…well.” Well. As if six months of ramen dinners and ten-hour shifts delivering Golden Empress menus hadn’t left their mark. She lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “Luc. What a surprise.” He didn’t offer a reciprocal platitude. Didn't ask how *she* was. Lucien Moreau never did things the easy way. “May I come in?” The hallway wasn’t exactly spacious. Ptolemy, Eva’s tabby, wound around his ankles as if trying to determine if this expensive intrusion was friend or foe. She stepped back, reluctantly granting him entrance. The scent of his cologne, something woody and impossibly sophisticated, filled the small space. “Eva’s out,” she said, unnecessarily. “Research trip. Gloucestershire, something about standing stones and ley lines.” “Fitting.” He scanned the flat, his gaze sweeping over the teetering stacks of books and scrolls. “It retains its… chaotic charm.” “It's lived in,” Aurora countered, a little defensively. Eva’s flat was a disaster zone, but it was *their* disaster zone. It held the scent of old paper, strong tea, and a comfortable lack of judgment. Lucien’s presence felt… discordant. He leaned his cane against the wall, a move that seemed to subtly claim territory. “I need your help, Rory.” She crossed her arms, tucking them tighter against her chest. “Funny, I thought I was the one who needed help last time we spoke.” The memory of that conversation, harsh words exchanged in a rain-soaked alley, still stung. The accusations. The hurt. He didn’t flinch. “That was…unfortunate. Circumstances have changed.” “Oh, have they?” Sarcasm dripped from her tone. “Did the underworld suddenly develop a code of ethics?” A flicker of something – amusement, maybe? – crossed his face. “Hardly. Though a little ethics might save me a headache. This isn’t a matter of morality, Rory. It's about a missing artifact.” “An artifact?” She raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Something sparkly and cursed?” “More complicated. It’s a Lapis Lazuli pendant, said to have belonged to Baba Yaga. Not cursed, precisely, but…attuned to certain energies. And currently in the hands of someone who shouldn't have it.” Aurora sagged against the doorframe. Of course it was a pendant belonging to a mythical witch. Her life was a magnet for the absurd. "And why come to me? I deliver noodles. I don't dabble in ancient relics." “You have a gift, Rory. A knack for seeing patterns, for connecting dots that others miss. Eva has spoken highly of your… deductive abilities.” “Eva also says I have a tendency to get involved in things that will get me killed.” “A valid concern.” He actually smiled, a brief, unsettling flash of white teeth. It was the first genuine warmth she’d seen from him since… well, since before everything fell apart. “But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you were capable. And if I didn’t believe you’re the only one who can help.” She didn’t want to believe him. Didn’t want to be drawn back into his world of shadows and secrets. But a part of her, a foolish, reckless part, was already intrigued. “What kind of someone shouldn’t have it?” she asked, her voice softer now. “A collector. Name of Valerius Thorne. Human, outwardly respectable. But…he has connections. Dark connections.” “Thorne. Doesn’t ring a bell." “It should. Seven years ago, he was investigated for trafficking in grimoires. The case went cold. Conveniently.” He paused, his gaze locking with hers. “He's dangerous, Rory. And if he manages to harness the pendant's power…” “Don’t leave me hanging.” “Let’s just say it wouldn't be good for anyone.” He straightened, adjusting his jacket. “I’ve already done some preliminary investigation. Thorne is hosting a private auction tonight. High society types, obscenely wealthy, and probably a few… connoisseurs of the unusual. I need you to get inside. Blend in. Find the pendant.” Aurora stared at him, her mind reeling. “Blend in? In what, exactly? I'm fairly certain I don't own anything that can be described as ‘high society.’” “I’ve anticipated that.” He reached inside his jacket and produced a small, velvet box. He opened it to reveal a dress. Black silk, intricately beaded, with a neckline that plunged dangerously low. “Absolutely not,” she said, her voice sharp. He raised an eyebrow. "It was tailored for someone your size. A… favor for Eva, who occasionally provides wardrobe consultation to certain clients." Aurora’s jaw tightened. Eva, always pulling strings. "This is ridiculous. I'm not becoming a spy in a fancy dress." "Think of it as… freelance research. Generously compensated, of course." “And what exactly is the compensation?” she asked, already knowing she was losing the battle. “Information. About Evan.” The air rushed from her lungs. Evan. Her ex. The reason she’d fled to London in the first place. The one topic Lucien knew would always get her attention. "What information?" she managed to ask, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ve learned he’s been asking questions. About you. About Eva. And about a… certain incident in Cardiff.” A cold dread coiled in her stomach. “What kind of questions?” Lucien’s gaze was unreadable. “The kind that suggest he’s not letting things lie. The kind that suggest he’s still dangerous.” She knew he was right. Evan had always been possessive, controlling. Even now, months later, the thought of him lurking, searching, sent shivers down her spine. She looked from the dress to Lucien’s face, his expression carefully neutral. It was a bargain with the devil, she knew. A desperate trade. Her skills for information about the man who had once made her life a living hell. “Fine,” she said, her voice raspy. “I’ll do it.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Excellent. I’ll have a car waiting. And Rory?” She met his gaze, steeling herself. “What?” “Try not to break anything.”